


Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

by softelytras



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Confessions, Drugs, Fluff, Internal Conflict, M/M, Marijuana, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, References to Arctic Monkeys, Slow Burn, Stress Relief, Unrequited Love, because weednap, dream's tired of everyones bullshit, hey twitter how are you doing, i just want dream and george to go through sum shit, literally just weed dw, or has a plug, sapnap is a plug, weed fics are fun to write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softelytras/pseuds/softelytras
Summary: when you're a big persona on the internet, shit gets stressful. dream feels overwhelmed and reaches his limit, looking for a way to unwind.smoking and inebriated conversations ensue.-based on "why'd you only call me when you're high?" by arctic monkeys
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 98





	Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Bye!” He grins, a cheery tone coming from his lips as he slouches in his chair a bit, his eyes scanning the lit up screen before him while he brings his mouse over to the option to end the stream he’d just spent around two hours on. The second he clicks the end button, a sigh forces its way out of his mouth. He slouches further in his worn gaming chair, blond locks of hair falling in his dull green eyes as he squeezes them closed. He could feel the tension in his muscles, and slowly wills himself to relax. Now that he’d ended the stream, it was time for him to force himself away from social media, knowing that there would be those there to instantly bring him down. He could feel his false happiness fade at the thought. There would always be those people to drag him down into a feeling that he’d inevitably drown in, one he wasn’t allowed to express. He could feel it in his lungs and in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. All the little jabs, the comments… all slowly eating at him until he no longer exists as an actual person, but rather a fake persona, made up of false joy. It was all just a mask at this point. 

The tension in his shoulders wasn’t fading, and he sensed that it wasn’t going to dissipate any time soon. He was worn out, and the bags under his eyes illustrated such. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a good night’s rest. On top of that, he felt a stab of pain in his stomach, effectively making him wince and let out a soft grunt of discomfort. He was hungry, and needed something that would take his mind off of everything, and ease the dull headache that was starting to kick in. Glancing at his phone, he rakes a hand through his messy, unwashed hair. Maybe he could text Nick, ask for a distraction, or some sort of detrimental ‘remedy’. 

**PANDAS**

_ hey, I have a headache from that stream _

7:46 pm

_ any suggestions? _

7:47 pm

_ do you shmoke? i can hook you up with someone _

7:49 pm

Clay blinked down at his phone, the bright screen illuminating the light smatter of freckles on his nose and the taken aback expression plastered to his face. He  _ was _ old enough, and it’s not like this was going to turn into a permanent habit. He just needed to relax this one night. 

**PANDAS**

_ not regularly but I wouldn’t be against it? _

_ I just need it for this one time _

7:56 pm

_ 237-504-5927 _

_ that’s my plug, he’s solid _

7:58 pm

_ p sure he can hook u up with someone in ur area _

7:59 pm

The tired blond shrugs off his hesitation; there was really no harm in a little weed, just to relax and bliss out, even if temporarily. He dials the numbers, and presses the call button before he could hesitate a second time. 

-

  
  


Clay twisted the small baggie in his hands, staring down at the innocent green contents as he contemplated. All he could feel was exhaustion, the man just wanted to relax… and yet, something held him back. How would George react? Would he care? He dragged his hand through his hair roughly, fingers curling at the roots and tugging. He was too far into his head.

Fumbling around in his drawer for the old rolling paper left over from a distant memory, he wracked his brain, trying to remember what came with rolling a perfect blunt. With the soft brown paper spread open between his pointer and thumb on the coffee table, he sifted the green on top, letting the paper shift so that it curled in on itself. 

He lifts it, tongue flicking out and running against the soft edge of the paper before tucking it in and twisting the ends. It wasn’t an ideal wrap, but it would get the job done. 

The lighter was on the table, there from his mom lighting candles when she would visit. He missed her, missed the comfort of her voice and hugs after he was done with a busy day. Missed how she would flash a soft smile at him whenever he seemed far too spaced out to comprehend any words exchanged between them. 

He also missed how she always bought groceries. He was starting to run low on food again.

The blunt rests between his fingers, and he lifts it, placing it between his lips loosely. The lighter moves up to him, and his thumb flicks it on while he cups the air around the blunt with his other hand, steadying the flame. The tip catches, and he drops the lighter, taking a drag and letting the sediments and smoke fill his lungs. He lets out a breath after a moment, smoke flowing from his mouth, settling around him. A cough escapes him, the slight burn in his chest vaguely familiar from his high school years. 

This is boring without music, he decides. Scooping up his phone, he maneuvers his way to Spotify, clicking on a random playlist. Shuffling, he lets out a sigh when the steady beat of a familiar song begins to play from his phone speakers, the opening bassline sinking into his bones. His lips turn up into a smile, and he pulls another drag. 

_ The mirror’s image, it tells me it’s home time. _

It’s an appropriate song for the occasion. He could feel the high starting to kick in, lips moving to the lyrics as his thoughts blur, swarming in his head. The blunt dangles between his fingers precariously, burning end slowly eating at the wrapping. 

_ But I’m not finished, ‘cause you’re not by my side. _

He leans back on the couch, crossing his legs in a relaxed manner. Bringing the blunt to his lips again, he takes a pull, holding it in longer, accepting the burn as the smoke fills his chest. His mind was faded, he couldn’t form a straight thought, and the music was a soft drone in the background. 

_ Now it’s three in the morning, and I’m tryna change your mind. _

He couldn’t help but shift his gaze toward the digital clock that sat on an end table. The blue digital lights flashed 3:30 in the morning at him, and he shakes his head. The irony of it made Clay chuckle quietly to himself. 

_ “Why’d you only call me when you’re high?” _

There was one more call he had to make, he decides. His fingers move thoughtlessly, punching in the memorized digits. It rang. The line clicks.

“Dream?” Clay puts the call on speakerphone, and George’s groggy voice fills the already smoky air. The blond stays silent, unable to find any words he could say. He wracks his cloudy brain for a coherent thought, an understandable sentence, but his search comes up empty. There was fumbling at the other end, and then the line clears.

“Dream, you can’t wake me up and then not say anything.” The clarity in George’s voice drags Clay out of his fog, and he blinks to himself.

“Sorry,” he slurs. His mind began scrambling to find an excuse. “Jus’ wanted to hear your voice.” It was a weak reason, but there was nothing else he was capable of thinking up. The doubtful hum he gets in return merely confirms that what he said was bullshit. There was nothing else the Floridian man  _ could  _ say, his tongue feeling heavy and thick in his mouth from the high.

“Are you  _ wasted?”  _

Clay laughs.  _ Not wasted, I’m just… I miss you, I miss our conversations. I’m tired. George, I’m fucking tired. I miss you.  _ He shakes his head, forgetting that there was no one to see him. 

“No, I’m relaxed.” He giggles, looking up at his ceiling. 

“George,” he begins, but falters. He wasn’t high enough for this. Another pull, a slight cough, and the fog fills his mind further. 

“I’m tired of everything. I have to keep… I have to keep faking my happiness when I stream and when I talk. I jus’ wish I could be able to express who I am with  _ everybody _ , and it hurts that I can’t. I want to fucking quit.” 

Clay sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. His phone was resting on the coffee table, the LED light from the call screen just barely filling the room. George remains silent, sleepy mind still trying to comprehend what was happening. 

“Alright… what else?”

The brunette on the other end was at a loss for words. He could hear Clay take a deep breath, and braces himself for what was next. Though he was unsure if he could help, he still wanted to hear Clay out. He could feel his worry pooling in his stomach.

“I feel like a failure. I feel like every time I do something, or try to prove myself, it’s never fucking good enough. There’s always people out there that start to criticize me and give me shit, and I can never catch a fucking break. I want to do stupid runs and get records and not being accused and analyzed. I want to make them happy without there being backlash or hate. I know I act like it doesn’t bother me, but  _ fuck, George _ .” He keens, chest shuddering as he takes a deep, wet breath, eyes stinging with emotion. 

George feels a pang in his chest as he searches for the words he could use to comfort his friend. He opens his mouth, seemingly choking on his own lack of words. The silence was deafening. 

“You… you can’t beat yourself up over everything. I know it’s hard not to, but you do so well. You’re  _ so good  _ at what you do. This is what comes with being big. You’re big, Dream, you can’t expect to have such a following and not get backlash. You just need to keep going.”

The blunt was finished. He felt burnt out, and the living room was heavy with aroma and smoke. Somehow it still wasn’t enough.

“George…” Clay starts, voice hitching in his throat. He swallows roughly. “George.” 

_ Why are you so far from me? Why can’t you be closer, so I can hold you and touch you and care for you without a distance getting in the way?  _

He wasn’t thinking straight. This wasn’t right.

“I need to go to bed,” he finally mumbles, bleary eyes looking at his blinking clock. There’s a soft hum of agreement on the other end, and some more shuffling, the sound of blankets being adjusted. It’s hard to think he’d been doing this for an hour and a half.

“Yeah. Get some rest, Clay.” 

The inebriated man flutters his eyes closed, the sudden use of his name sending a chill through him despite the warmth of his living room. He could feel his unspoken thoughts threatening to spill out in some messily organized sentence, the ones that would cause him more trouble than elatement. He pauses, breathing in the last words the man on the other end had spoken.

“G’night.”

He exhales and doesn’t bother to wait for a reply, simply hanging up and standing, wobbling slightly. He licks his dry lips as he shuffles to his bedroom, not bothering to change out of his home clothes before flopping onto his mattress. The familiar  _ brr _ of his air conditioner fills the air and he relaxes, letting the generated cool breeze cool his flushed skin. It wasn’t long until the bliss of his high drags him under completely, and he passes out on top of his blankets.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! welcome to a sloppy weed fic where dream opens up to his best friend only when he's high. me and ren (@arsondream on ao3, @DR3AMNOTFOUND on twitter) have been literally working on this (procrastinating) for a good couple weeks and i know it's short but hopefully uploads will be really regular! 
> 
> come yell at me on twitter if you're not already from there >:) @softelytras  
> go yell at ren on twitter :p @DR3EAMNOTFOUND
> 
> feel free to suggest what you want to see happen later on! we're honestly open to a lot of ideas <3 thanks for reading!


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